to 20 — Pike On The Pin

Pike On The Pin—Andrew Whittle

When I first started watching the TV series ‘A Passion for Angling’ in 1993 I was twelve years old and had already been fishing for a few years. No one in my family fished, although my father knew the basics. I was immediately inspired by the programs which portrayed the gentle romance of a bye gone era of Angling. An era that was way before my time, but that I somehow felt nostalgic for. Weirdly, I have always felt that way about the Beatles too. I guess somethings are so timeless that they transcend generations. Either that or I’m a time traveler.

Fast forward some twenty-five years and I decided to invest in a Centre Pin reel. I had always wanted one after watching Bob James and Chris Yates use them so skillfully, but somehow in all that time of being obsessed with fishing, I had never got around to purchasing one. So, when a really good friend gave me a onehundred-pound voucher for a tackle shop (as a thank you for playing guitar at her wedding) I decided it was the perfect time to get my first ‘Pin’. I went for a middle of the road model but one that worked perfectly. I immediately fell in love with trotting a stick float down the River Trent. Throughout that spring and summer, I got really quite good at it, and wondered why I had never tried this style of fishing before. One day I beefed up the line and had a great run of sessions catching Tench and Carp on a local lake. The Carp especially giving a terrific scrap on a float rod and pin combination. At one point a fish ripped off so fast that I burnt my thumb trying to stop it.

When winter came and my thoughts turned to Predators, I decided it would be great fun to fish for Pike with a centre pin. I knew the perfect place to try this out and decided one cold morning to give it a go. The river ‘Devon’ is a tributary of the River Trent. It starts life as a mere stream in the Vale of Belvoir near Belvoir Castle and winds its way around thirty miles through Nottinghamshire before joining the Trent at Newark. I opted to fish the stretch that’s around half a mile from the outflow into the Trent. The Devon is a marvelous little river, in many ways reminiscent of the river Stour. It is narrow, deep in places and shallow in others with willows lining the far bank along with very old oaks. It is what I would refer to as a proper ‘Mr. Crabtree River’. The English Civil War was fought in part along its banks and there have been many relics discovered in the past including cannon balls, musket shot and armour.

First Light I got to the river at around first light and selected a swim on a bend with a bit of depth at around 7ft. I had picked up some dead baits the day before and took them out of the packs to defrost. Typically, there had been a hard frost and it wasn't until cups of tea later that they were starting to thaw out. When fishing for Pike I like to use a circle hook. I gave up on trebles years ago and have been advocating circle hooks to anyone who will listen. I’m not sure about the science, but I have never yet deep hooked a fish with one. In fact, over ninety percent of the time the hook will end up in corner of the mouth in what is referred to as ‘the scissors’.

The key to circle hooks is not to strike when you get a take. The best method is to count to five as usual and then gently tighten the line. To anyone who has done a lot of Pike fishing it can seem very counter intuitive at first. Using this method, I have caught a lot of fish and had very few dropped takes. It stands to reason I guess as there is less ‘metal’ for the fish to detect when it first takes the bait and therefore it is less likely to drop it.

The setup I decided upon was thus: A 12ft Barbel Rod (rather than a Pike Rod) Centre Pin reel, loaded with 20lb mono, Pike bung, weigh, trace and circle hook. I tied a sliding knot to be able to vary the depth. I tend to lip hook the bait so that I can impart movement into it a regular interval to imitate a dying fish. Hooking it this way allows it to flutter in the current as its twitched up and down. As I have never tried this method with a centre pin, I decided to trot the float down the deeper parts of the river at around three quarters depth, twitching the bait and slowing it down on the likely looking spots.

First cast and the rig moved through the water nicely. The only issue I noticed straight away was that the river was running slightly higher than usual due to the recent rains. The water colour was fairly clear though, with that lovely bottle green hue that only a winter river seems to possess. I’ve always wondered why that is. Is it the water temperature? The fact there is more water in the river? I’m not sure.

As the float approached an over hanging tree in an area that looked like it should hold a fish my senses heightened. However, nothing happened. I tried a few more likely looking areas in the next few swims, giving each one several runs through. Again nothing. I decided to try a slightly bigger bait and again tried several likely looking areas. I have found over the years that the Pike tend to hide under overhanging trees, in deep depressions or close in to undercut banks. The Devon however is a quirky river which doesn’t like to follow the rules. It is what I call a winter river. In the summer it is choked by weed and cabbages that make it very hard to fish. It also seems to be virtually devoid of prey fish in the summer. In the lower reach at least. It seems that the masses of Roach, Dace, Rudd, Bleak and Perch seem to enter the river in the colder months.

The Devon has thrown up my only 4lb Perch, which was a total shock last winter. This is the magic of small rivers that have very little Angling pressure. This little river has also thrown up Pike of well over 20lb in swims that don’t even seem deep enough to cover their backs.

I decided to move down river to a swim with more depth and a slow sweeping bend. As I walked through the field the ground was frozen solid. The mud was almost like concrete and the puddles were strong enough to ice skate on. I have caught plenty of Pike in the cold before but I have often noticed that when there is a hard frost, especially one that follows a mild day, that it halts the action. I settled in the new Peg and decided to set the rig over depth so that the bait would rest on the bottom. I paid out a loop into the line and let the rig settle in the deeper part of the river close to the bank. I made another cup of tea to warm my fingers and perched on an old tree stump. A Heron stood on the opposite bank staring down into the water with absolute concentration. I like the roving approach on small rivers and so never bring a chair or anything I don’t need. Just a couple of rods, a folding net, unhooking matt and a few bits and bobs.

The Pike

Suddenly the float jolted as if it had been hit by something, but then nothing happened. A few seconds later it jolted again and slowly sailed away. Something had picked it up. After a short countdown I tightened up and was met with hearty resistance. I clicked the ratchet drag on the reel and it immediately starting screaming. The noise seemed so loud in the still morning. Far louder than a fixed spool and all the more exciting for it. The Heron decided it was all a bit too chaotic and took flight straight over my head like a giant Pterodactyl.

The fish gave me the run around and tried all the usual tricks to escape such as heading for overhanging branches and then trying to bury itself in the dying weeds. After an exciting fight I managed to net the fish which was a decent enough size at around 7lb. The hook was neatly in the corner of the mouth as predicted. I love the fact that they leave virtually no mark on the fish and this one was certainly non the worse our brief encounter. I’m sure he was probably pretty annoyed, but was returned fighting fit and now wide awake.

With my confidence now increased by my first ‘Pike on the pin’ I walked a mile up river trying each likely looking spot – giving it five to ten minutes and a few runs through in each. I had a run where the float went under for around 3 seconds and then the fish dropped the bait. This I suspect was a decent Perch and I kicked myself for missing it. In a swim with a dying weed bed along it I managed another fish. This time a Jack Pike of around 3lbs who gave a really good account of himself. Interestingly he seemed to have a very badly chewed dorsal fin which I can only presume was a mink or an otter.

I fished on into the afternoon and managed another fish of around 6lb which again made the pin scream. In fact, I attracted a small gathering of dog walkers who had heard the noise from the foot path and wondered what was happening! To them a strange sound but to me, sweet music and the sound of success on a day where the temperature never really got above zero. One of the dogs decided to grab my last dead bait and take off up the field with it. The owner apologised profusely, and in classic non-angler style, she said to me “I hope that wasn’t your dinner?" The light started to fade in the mid afternoon and I decide to call it a day. I haven’t caught any monsters but that’s not what today was about. I had great fun on the pin and will definitely be back in search of a Leviathan . As I walked back to the car, I was treated to a gorgeous winter sunset. Time for a nice pint of ale next to an open fire. And though I can’t move my fingers, I head home happy.

Backwinding—Diary Extracts: Saturday 5th September A few days ago, on a walk from our holiday home in the valley (to a stone circle and some satanic looking rock formations), we stumbled upon a manmade looking pond, about 20 minutes uphill from the house. It looked fishy, lily beds, two islands, gravel banks in some spots, sheer drop offs in others. The water level was reasonably low, but at a guess I would say still holding a depth of 4 to 5 feet between the two central islands.

I had planned to come back, scatter some free offerings of bread and see what the uptake was, with a view to christen my split cane rod, which was in the van following a long weekend fishing prior to joining everyone else on holiday, should anything rise to the bait. I didn't make it back until today, and we leave first thing tomorrow, but up early this morning and out for a stroll in the early morning, late summer, Cornwall sun, it was nice to be back by the water.

A thick black cloud floated overhead and a sudden downpour caught me off guard. The rain was unexpected but short lived, and there was some small movements around some sourdough crusts I had left in the margins. I could see a spaniel approaching what I assumed was his usual morning dipping spot, the dogs owner someway behind. I moved along the bank as the dog started its morning swim at the far end of the pool. Though the pool was on public land, I was weary of the locals meeting a tourist throwing bread into a pool in which their dogs swim,

Backwinding—Diary Extracts: Saturday 5th September

so pocketed the rest of the bread and tried to look as normal as possible, whilst lurking by the lake. “Its filling up again, isn't it?” the dog walker remarked, approaching me. I began my explain my tourist-ness and proceeded to receive a great history lesson on the valley in which we were staying, including the body of water itself.

The water was known as Warrens Pool, named after, or by, Brian Warren, who's family used to own the heathland above the pool, and who also founded Warrens Bakery, long before it was a big chain selling not-pasty pasties all over the country. Brian Warren dug the pool for draining off the heath, and a slues on the downward bank which I was stood upon, channeled the water down into the valley of Lower Bostraze, where we were staying. At which point the water fed into another stream, flowing out of St Just, passing through Kendijack valley and passing the south west costal path, before eventually joining the Atlantic.

We continued to chat about the area, and the island I come from, the tourists etc. I was conscious I didn't want to sound like some kind of poacher, but steered the conversation back round to whether she knew of any fish in Warrens Pool and she duly recounted a story of a boy from the village catching some small fish from it which he then moved to his garden pond. Perch, she said, and some small golden silvery fish, which I suggested were probably Rudd. This was also probably what was nudging the bread in the margins.

Backwinding—Diary Extracts: Saturday 5th September We chatted a little while longer before she followed the dog down the path, away from the lake, rock formations and stone circles, heading downhill on much the same path that water that feeds out of Warrens Pool must take. I hung back a while, enjoying the absolute silence of the countryside in deepest Cornwall, and watching the water, just incase of a giant unknown Carp breaking the surface. Naturally it never did, and I figured I should stroll back down to the house as the boys were likely awake by now, and a couple of us were due to walk into town and collect a very large order of pasties from McFaddens at 11am.

Of course, I had left it too late in the holiday to actually return and fish the pool. The perch in Warrens Pool would have to wait, and maybe ill return one day, but in the meantime September is here and Perch fishing a little closer to home is calling.